


Touch Me, Fulfill Me

by Buttsuoka_Rin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domesticity and Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttsuoka_Rin/pseuds/Buttsuoka_Rin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sherlock grinned down at him, then leaned down just enough to put his mouth to John's ear. "It's been over a week since this case began, John. Ten days, actually. I think a celebration is in order." He straightened up as though he hadn't just muttered what amounted to 'take me home and take me to bed' into his husband's ear, lifting a hand to flag down a taxi.</i>
</p><p>Sherlock and John have finally wrapped up a case and are in dire need of sex. They plan to fulfill this once they get home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me, Fulfill Me

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock and John are already married in this fic. Just letting you know. Also, this is 98% porn. You have been warned.

Wrapping up a case was always thrilling. Not so much as thrilling as actually chasing criminals halfway around London, but it was still adrenaline-inducing. Sherlock adjusted his scarf and leaned close to John to steal some of his body heat. 

The case itself had been weird, and gruelling, including vult leaders and a serial killer who believed himself to be the Tenth Doctor. Except a dark Tenth Doctor, killing people because ' _he was coming,_ whoever the hell 'he' was. Either way, that man had been passed for insanity and quickly carted off, and the victim's bodies had been found and fixed up for a proper burial.

Wrapping up a case always seemed to leave Sherlock and John with an insane (and surprising, on Sherlock's part) appetite. It seemed they both had influenced each other over the years of their relationship.

"So... Lunch?" John asked, sticking his hand out for a cab.

"Starving." Sherlock grinned down at him, then leaned down just enough to put his mouth to John's ear. "It's been over a week since this case began, John. Ten days, actually. I think a celebration is in order." He straightened up as though he hadn't just muttered what amounted to 'take me home and take me to bed' into his husband's ear, lifting a hand to flag down a taxi.

John felt his stomach tingle and his face heat up just as the taxi came to a stop. "Well then, I hope you have quite an appetite." He slid into the cab, brushing past Sherlock and giving his arse a little pinch as he did so. He smirked and shifted over, giving their address to the cabbie. Seeing as it would be the first time in about ten days that they could be wholly committed to intimacy together, John wanted to make it count.

Oh, that sounded _filthy_ coming out of John's mouth. He leaned against his shorter husband's shoulder during the ride, occasionally leaning over to murmur something that was only a little lewd into John's ear. Most of what he murmured was in French, in a low velvety purr, so that the cab driver wouldn't understand or lip-read what he was saying.  
John only had a very, _very_ little amount of French from his school days, so he didn't know exactly what Sherlock was doing. But it was making him excited anyway, when being said in that deep baritone. Even the words that he did know like, 'you' and 'hand' and even 'yes' were making him hot.

Just before the pulled up at Baker Street, John's hand had been rubbing up along the inner seam of Sherlock's trousers.

Sherlock flung fifteen pounds at the cabbie and practically dragged John out of the cab, already heading toward the door. He called a hurried hello to Mrs Hudson, apologized in advance for the noise, and hurtled for the stairs. He was fully intent on not even making it to the bedroom before he let John shag him into next week, but he was somewhat stymied by tripping over a book on his way into the room. He had to take a couple dancing steps to avoid a couple of more scattered about books.

"Whoa!" John had ended up being pulled over with Sherlock. To avoid landing on anything that would hurt, he fell onto the couch and pulled Sherlock with him. He pulled off his jacket and slung it over the back of the couch. "Wait here." Standing up, John bent down and gave Sherlock a quick kiss, nipping his bottom lip lightly before turning around and walking towards the kitchen.

Sherlock looked momentarily stunned, but pulled himself up and moved to his armchair instead. Perching, he unfastened his cuffs and the top two buttons on his shirt, baring a triangle of creamy skin. His Belstaff coat, scarf, and suit jacket had been discarded already, leaving him in his crisp white shirt and sharply-pressed trousers.  
John caught a glimpse of that long neck and soft skin on his way in and had to bite his lip. He padded over and took Sherlock's hand to tug him into the downstairs bedroom; he was too impatient to go upstairs. He pushed Sherlock gently against the bedroom door and kissed him again, long and slow and languidly.

Sherlock practically melted into the door, bending his knees and his neck just enough that John wouldn't have to strain to reach his mouth. "God, I've missed that. Kissing you properly, I mean. Been a long while." Most of that was muttered into John's mouth, but Sherlock couldn't be arsed to pull away long enough to articulate properly. His hands wandered down and around into the small of John's back, under his cardigan.

John's back arched up and his body pressed against Sherlock. "You're telling-" He moved his mouth away to suck on Sherlock's jawline. "-Me." He left his mark all over Sherlock's neck, on the underside of his jaw, and under his ear. His hands were deftly undoing the rest of Sherlock's shirt buttons and he pushed one shoulder off before leaning his head back and looking up at his husband.

Shelrock shrugged out of the shirt, tossing it haphazardly to one side and thanking his lucky stars that he'd unbuttoned the cuffs in advance. The marks on his neck and under his jaw didn't bother him in the slightest; like the ring on his finger, they were only signs of how thoroughly John had taken ownership of his heart. The little kisses and bites had left Sherlock a little flushed and breathless; his narrow chest rose and fell rapidly with his breathing.

"Bed." John murmured, running his hands down Sherlock's chest and massaging his nipples between his fingers. Taking him by the hips, he steered his husband over to the bed and lay him down. He took a moment to pull of his jumper and cardigan together and let them fall into a heap on the ground. Never taking his eyes off Sherlock, John clambered onto the bed and knelt over him.  
Sherlock arched into that brief touch with a soft noise, his silver eyes fluttering halfway closed before he collected himself again. Inching back on the bed, he did his best to drape himself artfully across the bed without disturbing any of John's limbs. Didn't really work, but he hoped that he at least did't look a complete fool. He didn't hold out much hope, though.

John shifted so he had a knee on either side of Sherlock's narrow hips; it wasn't too much of a stretch. He dipped his head down again and kissed Sherlock, letting his hands run appreciatively through his soft curls. "My god, you are beautiful." His hands roamed around his husbands body, feeling his reactions.

Sherlock melted under the kiss, his neck arching almost like a cat as John's fingers moved through his hair. He was surprisingly quiet tonight, focusing more on the senation than on the little noises that John so loved to hear him make. He arched and stretched under his husband's gentle fingers, the lean muscles in his stomach tensing and flexing as his hips moved ever so slightly against the bed.

John's hands moved to Sherlock's trousers and he flicked open the button, stretching the zip open as he did so. He paused and let his eyes flick back up to Sherlock's, sharing a long look, before he continued to pull down Sherlock's trousers, shimmying them down over his calves and feet and then tossing them to the floor. He ran his hands along his legs all the way up to his slightly tighter than normal underwear. John moved so he was positioned between Sherlock's legs and he leaned his face in closer to the underwear. In a matter of seconds, his mouth was against Sherlock's cock, feeling him through the cotton. 

Sherlock keened softly at the first breath of air over him, warm from John's lungs, and pushed his hips off the bed again. He went quite still, though, when that clever little mouth moved over him through the thin cotton of his briefs. Down by John's hips, the detective's toes curled against the coverlet in a completely involuntary little gesture. John's lips and tongue traced the outline of Sherlock's length, leaving a dark damp line. When he felt the head under his lips, he pulled them back. He kept his gaze fixed on Sherlock when his fingers peeled down the briefs. The doctor's heart was beating quite fast, simply because it was the first time they were being intimate together in a while.

Before he did anything, John shimmied up and gave Sherlock a small kiss, murmuring 'I love you' into his mouth. Then, his nifty surgeon's hand wrapped around Sherlock's cock and he gave a light squeeze.  
Sherlock tried to get out a response, but it turned into a softly strangled moan and he tossed his head back. He hadn't entirely lacked for touch, but having John's hand on him was an entirely different phenomenon that turned him into a softly moaning clump of pale flesh. 

He uncurled his hands from the sheets, resting one over the scar on John's shoulder and tightening the other on his opposite bicep. John used the expose expanse of half-tanned neck to his advantage. He kissed and suckled gently, leaving small pink hickeys all over the skin. His hand pumped up and down slightly, teasing the head with his thumb in small circles. He made sure to switch every now and again to fondle Sherlock's balls, massage the scrotum and then trail all the way up again. Blood was quickly travelling south and John could feel his trousers becoming tighter and tighter.

Sherlock's stifled noises were getting steadily louder, turning from breathy sighs into breathless groans, and finally into full-blown moans in his usual velvet baritone. He was eventually forced to clutch tighter at John's bicep, trying to get him to stop.

"J-John... It's t-too much, I don't w-want to cum just yet. Not until you're inside me..." His toes curled again and he forced down another moan, tossing his head back.

Pulling back with a half-flushed face, John simply nodded. He removed his hands and sat back on his heels. "Let me get these off. And some lube." John stood down from the bed and pulled off his jeans and underwear, freeing his mostly erect cock. He fished around the drawers until he caught the cold bottle of lube; it was a brand new, unopened bottle that John had bought a few weeks back. Settling back between Sherlock's legs, John snapped the cap back and squeezed a large dollop onto his palm. He quickly slicked himself up. 

"Okay?" He nudged Sherlock's knees up and took hold of his hips.

Sherlock laid back while John was rummaging around, idly curling his fingers around his own length and stroking just enough to keep himself right at the peak of hardness. "John... It's been a while, you know, so..." He glanced down at John's fingers pointedly, his cheeks turrning slightly pink. As much as he trusted John, he didn't quite trust his body to take his husband's cock without some form of preparation after more than a week. 

"Ah... Sorry, I should have known already." John scolded himself and sat back a bit. He took some lube again and coated his fingers with it, rubbing them together to make it warm. He touched Sherlock's cheek with his right hand as his slick left fingers found his hole. After teasing the puckering hole for a few more moments, John nudged his fingers in; Sherlock was right, and he was very tight.

The detective let out a little hiss of mixed pain and pleasure, but didn't tell John to stop. Instead, he pulled him down for a kiss, meeting him halfway with a needy little sound. He forced himself to relax, breathing out a sigh into John's mouth. John's tongue licked its way into his mouth, twisting together with Sherlock's. He kept up his gentle cheek strokes and concentrated on doing both that and gently stretching Sherlock. His two fingers slicked their way in until they reached the first knuckle. He waited a moment, wriggling them around, and then he inched them forward ever so slightly, curling them at the same time.

Sherlock had to break the kiss to let out his noises; They were desperate, almost broken sounds that seemed to tear out of his chest. That sudden surge of pleasure had made his muscles tense, pressing on John's fingers, which had in turn amplified the feeling even further until it took on the sharp edge of almost-pain. Not enough to make him ask John to stop, but enough to make his eyes flutter and start rolling back.

John murmured his apologies into Sherlock's mouth, reaching down and taking hold of Sherlock's cock as he kept up his finger-curling against his prostate. He could feel the tight walls around his fingers begin to stretch. Lying back again, Sherlock rolled his hips into John's fingers and breathed out a soft moan. "A-alright. Go ahead."

John slowly pulled his fingers out of Sherlock and lined himself up. All the moaning and panting had done his erection good. His cock had already been slicked up and prepared, so there was no need for that again. Looking at Sherlock, John took hold of his hips once more, and then he pushed the head of his cock into him, feeling that familiar tight heat envelop him.

The lean detective practically mewled, head flung back and eyes closed. It wasn't painful, exactly, but the familiar stretch and very slight burn was oh-so-welcome. He clutched at John's bicep again, long fingers pressing into the firmly bunched muscles there. John took a breath and pushed in further, not stopping until he was in as far as he could go. He let out a long, deep moan and adjusted himself, before pulling back out and thrusting in again. 

Sherlock's hand slid up his bicep to curl over his shoulder, long fingers pressing into the strangely textured skin of the scar spreading over his shoulder. "God, yes, that's it. Needed this," he murmured, eventually dissolving into mutters of French as John rocked and thrusted into him. Eventually that, too, slipped out of his grasp, and he settled for rolling his hips up against John's and giving out desperate little noises.

John took a hold of Sherlock's hard length in his dominant hand, still holding Sherlock's hips with the other. He was grunting and groaning with every thrust, and every little noise, every French word escaping Sherlock's lips were driving him closer and closer. "God- Fuck- Yes-" Each word was punctuated with a gasp or a pant as John pounded into him.

Even Sherlock wasn't quite sure why he started speaking French during sex. It's just something that tended to happen around him. As it was, he wasn't thinking about it right now. He was too focused on the tight coil of white heat building in the pit of his stomach, the soft tingle starting in his extremities and running up his nerves to the back of his brain. He managed a strangled little noise and clenched his hand on John's shoulder, trying to explain exactly just how close he was getting.

John could feel his balls begin to tighten. He cursed quietly as he literally fucked Sherlock into the bed and then began to moan loudly. He could feel himself slowly losing it and was starting to leak inside his husband. "Sherlock-" He was grunting and straining to hold onto the pre-orgasm build-up before he let go.

Sherlock keened again, that soft mewling noise that was so mugh higher than his speaking voice, and flung his head back. His back arched smoothly off the bed and his muscles tightened as his orgasm literally tore through him. His vision whited out momentarily and he may have made another, louder noise. He wasn't sure, since he was too busy riding out the soft spasms of nerve and muscle tissue.

Whatever language Sherlock had shouted, John could hear his own name in the middle of it all. The feeling of Sherlock tightening around his cock was enough to finally push him over the edge. His balls pulled tight and he came inside his husband with a shout of his name. John's whole body went stiff as he continued his release.

It took several seconds for Sherlock's vision to stop flickering white at the edges. He arched like a cat after a moment, making a noise that was suspiciously like a purr, and letting a slow smile pull at the corners of his mouth.

After he had got his breath back, John pulled out of Sherlock and let his body go slack. He collapsed beside Sherlock; well, 'beside' actually means 'half on top of'. "Oh my goodness. That..." He turned his head to look at Sherlock who was all flushed and sweaty and then he grinned.

"That was bloody brilliant." Sherlock hummed softly, actually looking quite pleased with himself. He'd solved a case, _then_ gone home and had incredibly satisfying sex with his husband. Even for Sherlock, that sounded like an extraodinarily good day. He would have been quite content to stay where he was, but his stomach gave a soft rumble of hunger. "Mmm. Didn't you promise lunch?"

John gave a soft chuckle and hauled himself onto his knees. "I did indeed." The sex seemed to make him hungry for the second time that day. He crawled up and kissed Sherlock quickly. "How about we share a pizza? I still need to do some shopping but that can wait until tomorrow."

"Mmm. Can it have chicken and feta and red peppers on it?" He sat up on his elbows to lean into the kiss a bit, not caring that he was still very much naked and had his own release cooling on his stomach. At least, not for the moment. His stomach rumbled again, and he chuckled into John's mouth. "I'll share as long as it's got all those on it."

"Of course." He pulled back and ran his hand through Sherlock's hair once more, loving the feeling of silky hair between his fingers. He glanced down at Sherlock's stomach and chest and hid a smirk. "There's some baby wipes in my drawer. Make sure you clean up before eating." With a wink, he rolled off the bed and grabbed a random shirt off the ground - he was still naked and would be until he decided to put it on.

Sherlock glanced down and flushed delicately. Rolling onto one side, he dug around in John's side of the nightstand until he found the baby wipes, cleaning the mess off his stomach and pelvis. He was a little surprised at how much there was. Rolling back over, he gave John a quick once-over and licked his lips. He might just go for a second round after dinner.

 

John finally disappeared into the kitchen, having slipped on the open shirt; obviously Sherlock's, going by how it was pulled tight across his biceps to define the muscle there. He shrugged and went about finding those ready-made pizza bases he's bought in Tesco two weeks ago from the freezer. John was good at making toppings, and he didn't forget to add the feta, red peppers and chicken.

Sherlock debated just tossing on a dressing gown, but the flat was a little chilly and, unlike John, he didn't seem to be immune to the cold. So, he pulled on a pair of his own jeans, an old tee, and John's purple cardigan before going downstairs. He was limping a bit, of course, but he'd been worse. Savouring the feeling a bit, he padded downstairs barefoot to join John in the kitchen, who was busy perfecting the toppings - mozarella cheese, tomato puree, small bits of bacon, feta cheese, red peppers, and bite sized chunks of chicken.

Johndidn't notice Sherlock until he went to put it in the pre-heated oven, giving a surprised little start. He noticed his cardigan and smiled. "Look at us," He closed the over door and turned to face him properly, still fully exposed. "Wearing each other's clothes."

Sherlock licked his lips again. The sleeves were too short, but he had disguised it by rolling them up to his elbows and letting them bunch up a bit there. Wasn't a bad look on him... "Yes, and you're still very naked." He crossed the kitchen in three steps, bending a little to kiss John full on the mouth. Long hand slide under the edge of the shirt, fluttering around John's back until the very tips of his fingers brushed the little dimples just above the curve of the shorter male's arse. He pressed gently, bringing John's hips closer to his.


End file.
